Up In Smoke
by bohemian-rhapsodi
Summary: In which Rorschach leaves Daniel a parting note... one-shot.


**A/N: Watchmen is brilliant, it's changed my life! I'm quite converted-- especially in regards to the outrageous and completely mysterious character of Rorschach. What can I say, he's amazing!**

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**Set after the Antarctic Incident... slightly skewed look at Daniel's reaction. Hope you enjoy!**

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**Disclaimer: 'Watchmen' doesn't belong to me; do you get the impression that I would have left a certain masked vigilante alive?**

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**Up In Smoke**

Daniel had never felt so numb in his life, and he knew that it wasn't only because of the deadly Antarctic chill. His mind shied away from what he had just witnessed, curling up and protecting itself from the horror and the echoes of his despairing scream. He mechanically checked the schematics on Archie; fuel gauge, core temperature...

It was only when he went to close the bay doors that he realised how fogged up the lenses were- from crying.

His hands dropped to his sides as he listened to the harsh wind howling outside the Owlship, whistling and sending little flurries of snow inside the ship. He felt a profound exhaustion come over him, and he needed to grip his gloved hand on the wall of the ship to stabilise himself.

What was he waiting for?

_Close the door, Daniel._

But how would Rorschach get home?

Squeezing his eyes tight against the sudden dizziness, he took a breath and tried to face the reality.

Rorschach wasn't coming back. He wasn't coming anywhere.

_No. It didn't happen. He couldn't have..._

Daniel had seen it happen, but he still refused to believe.

_Dead._

His goggles were well and truly opaque now, and he ripped them off with one impatient movement, letting the tears fall down the angles and planes of his mask.

The mask... he had taken it off. Daniel hadn't seen his face from the front, but he had seen its profile. He felt sick recalling it, as though the act of seeing Rorschach's face was somehow disgusting and abhorrent to him. He wasn't meant to see... he didn't _want_ to know.

_DO IT!_

"No." Daniel croaked, trying to turn his mind away again; he wasn't ready to face it, he couldn't...

Why had he begged for death? Was he really so empty without his city, so shattered to know that his home would never be the same again, that he would prefer the utter isolation of death?

Daniel's head swam again, and this time he had to sit down, head between his knees, in the nearest seat.

The passenger seat.

_His_ seat.

The costume suddenly seemed stifling, and he impatiently ripped off each piece of armour until he was left in a single layer. He tilted his head back and breathed, letting his hands drop to the armrests...

What was that?

Daniel's eyes fluttered open as his hand felt a piece of material on the chair, a single ragged and stained sheet of paper almost concealed in the crevice of the upholstery.

His heart leapt into his mouth; there was only one man that could have left it there.

Rorschach... what did he have to say for himself?

The writing was almost unintelligible, the scribble of a person assured that no one else needed to decipher it. He smoothed it out with trepidation.

_Daniel,_

_You sit near me at the controls, looking worried. Don't like it when you're worried. On the way to Veidt. Have a feeling we're going without a piece of the puzzle. Think we will find out soon. Then I'll say 'I told you so'._

_Have another feeling, not so easy to describe. Feeling of doom. Usual for me, but stronger than normal. Maybe they got to me? Depressants in water now?_

_Doesn't matter. Need to write this anyway, hidden in my coat as you watch the skies. The feeling compels me to write this; nothing happens, I destroy it. No matter._

_If something happens, you read it. See why I'm your partner, why I stick with you. Why I clean up the city. Why I ask nothing in return._

_Because Rorschach does not live for himself. Rorschach lives for an idea: that crime and depravity will always be a human trait, that someone needs to stop it. We both live (and will die, if my feeling is right) by that idea._

_Thing is... when I'm not Rorschach, I live for something else. Those times are getting shorter each time. When not Rorschach, I live for humankind. For the simple things. Feeling of rain through soles of shoes. Play of a shadow on a wall. Shaking of a hand. Simple things._

_Like friendship._

_Even Rorschach agrees; you are a good friend. Only friend. Only one I can trust. Never really wanted a friend, but I got one anyway. Happier for it._

_Strange, how pen runs away from me. Puts words on the page. All true. Not many people claim to know me, and all of those were at the Comedian's funeral. Sad gathering, drenched in rain. No one to come to mine, except you._

_Don't have anything to give. All I ask of you: keep city safe. City means a lot. Is a mess, a cesspool, screaming out for redemption. Doesn't deserve it, but I try. Futile. Scum never leave._

_You hear this from me every day. Nothing new. Only one thing I need to say._

_Daniel..._

By now, the Nite Owl's eyes couldn't tear themselves away from the page. He could hear the words in Rorschach's growling, guttural voice.

_...more than friend. Brother. Never had a brother. Would be like you. Good partner. Glad to know you._

_Almost to the ice. Hate the cold._

_Hope you never need to read this. Know this: not afraid of death. Welcome to it, except that I have job to do. Is everything- almost everything. You matter now._

_One last note: 2359/C Ursula. Burn everything._

_Rorschach_

Daniel let the note slip out of his lifeless hands, clenching his jaw in sudden anger and disbelief.

Rorschach had loved the city, despite its flaws. He protected it, weeded out the undesirables, and left others to enjoy it the best they could. Sometimes he failed, and it weighed heavily upon him. Daniel could tell; all those little signs of frustration, clenching his hands deep within his pockets, the tensing of a jaw underneath the shifting ink of his mask.

How Daniel wished more people cared that he was gone. Even the other vigilantes didn't really care; they tolerated him, used him for the dirty work, and left him to himself. Even the Comedian, in all his brutality, had dismissed him as a lunatic.

The Comedian's funeral... he'd obviously seen it. Daniel cast his mind back, to the feel of uneven concrete under his feet as he waited for the ceremony to begin, the dribble of rain that managed to make its way into his clothes to chill his skin...

_The man with the sign, giving him what seemed to be a contemptuous glance as they waited for Manhattan._

As soon as the possibility entered his mind, he knew it to be true. Who else could proclaim a message of doom with such conviction than the man who had lived through a thousand horrors? His features had matched the last glimpses of Rorschach before_ it_ happened. The same ginger stubble, sunken cheeks, defiant stance...

"Rorschach..." He groaned through gritted teeth. "Goddammit, you freak..."

_Why'd you have to leave me?_

**

**

2359 Ursula Lane. It was a place of no consequence, a building that they had often passed on their sweeps of the city. Rorschach had betrayed nothing, and Daniel had shrugged off his familiarity of the area as one of the many quirks and talents he possessed.

Complicated bastard.

Daniel had waited for over a week before coming; he needed to be sure of himself, or at least, as sure as anyone could be in these uncertain times. Veidt's reconstruction was going sickeningly well, but even Daniel could feel that the spirit of the city had disappeared.

Rorschach couldn't have lived in the new world order, he realised that now.

But that didn't help the pain.

He plodded his way across the laneway, luckily in one of the few sectors that residents were allowed to return and collect their belongings. No one would question his presence.

He could hear the loudspeakers booming from Ground Zero, still reading out the List; the list of names of all those who had died, or were still missing. It had been going for a week now; every now and again, the wind would blow a single name across the void to Daniel, and he would shiver violently at the images that sprang into his head.

There were very few others around him; he had the feeling that the people living in this kind of street didn't exactly linger outside. There was one couple moving all their belongings into their car a few doors down, a teen smoking down on the corner and a few lights in windows. Other than that, it seemed dead.

Like the city.

Forcing himself forward, Daniel walked slowly up the cracked concrete steps into the townhouse style complex. It was cramped and deserted, and he assumed that apartment 'C' would be up on the second floor. He made his way up further, wincing at every squeak and retort from the ancient wooden stairs and trying not to breath in the smell of mildew. As soon as he reached the landing, he could see which door was _his_.

The pea-green paint was peeling from the wood, but he could still see the letter on the door. It was the work of a minute to break the lock; something that _he_ had insisted on teaching Daniel.

Too bad Rorschach never felt the need to break in without completely destroying Daniel's lock.

The room beyond looked nearly empty, a battered couch and rickety table the only pieces of furniture in the room. It was permeated with a musty atmosphere which suggested that this was merely a way station- somewhere to dump belongings, grab a meal, or have a quick sleep. It didn't feel like it was Rorschach's home.

Sure enough, the first thing that Daniel noticed was the sign. _The End Is Nigh._

"If only." He muttered bitterly.

_Burn everything._

The words from the note came back to him, and Daniel knew that he had to obey the command. It was the only thing Rorschach had ever asked from him, his final wishes.

Trying not to focus on the objects he was collecting, he found a half-disintegrated cardboard box and filled it with the few things he could find. A single set of cutlery and kitchenware, one spare change of clothes, a few toiletries. He was extremely tempted to look at the bundle of papers that he retrieved from under the bare mattress, but he eventually shoved that in with the rest of it. He didn't want to know his name or anything else; knowing Rorschach was enough.

He backed out of the flat with the box in his arms, jumping slightly as a nasal voice pierced the air.

"So he's gone as well, is he?"

Daniel spun around to see the landlord standing on the landing, lips pursed. He was balding and meek looking, but his eyes were creased into a menacing stare.

"Erm... yes." Daniel said softly.

The man only grunted. "Three out of seven tenants... business is tough."

Daniel just stood there, disbelieving. Half of New York is _gone_, and he couldn't care less?

"Still... didn't think that crazy old Walter had any friends who would bother." The man continued in his stuffy monotone.

Daniel closed his eyes briefly, cursing the man for his very existence. _Walter..._

"_I_ bother." He snapped. "He was like a brother to me."

The man only shrugged, as if to say, 'each to their own'.

Daniel quickly left without looking at the landlord once, afraid of what he might do if he snapped.

**

**

True to his word, Daniel doused the box with some gasoline and threw a match on it. The flames roared and ate up the fuel hungrily, flickering and dancing devilishly.

In the thick, oily smoke, Daniel imagined that he could see everything of his past life spiralling towards the uncaring sky.

Nite Owl... gone.

New York... gone.

The Watchmen... gone.

Rorschach... gone.

Only Daniel remained, and in the silent loneliness, he mourned it all.


End file.
